Yelling and Screaming and Pitching Fits
by MARSHMELLO
Summary: Harry and a certain professor have a falling out and it's ruinig everyone's vacation.
1. Holly Jolly

AN: This is my first solo attempt at fanfiction that I'm actually posting—I lost or did not finish the others. I don't really know why that's important, but there you have it. This was inspired somewhat by my reaction to 15 year old Harry—which was mostly to feel sorry for 15 year old Ron—and contains spoilers for the 5th book in abundance. It takes place during the Christmas holidays of the gang's 6th year.

Title: Um, I just made one up on the spur of the moment, so if anyone can think of a better one, by all means, make a suggestion.

Disclaimer: I'm poor, really poor. Really, _REALLY_ POOR. Please don't sue me and take what little money I have; I need that for my trip to Italy in the spring. I have never claimed to own Harry Potter nor any of the characters therein—obviously not, otherwise I wouldn't be so poor, right?—nor should this paltry triviality be construed as such a claim.

"Yelling and Screaming and Pitching Fits"

Chapter 1: Holly Jolly

Number 12 Grimauld Place was exceptionally gloomy. The elf heads had finally been removed along with the shrieking portrait of Mrs. Black. It had been refurnished and the halls had been hung with holly and mistletoe for the season. The floors had all been polished to a meticulously high gloss. Removed were all signs of age and wear to reveal stark but very real beauty underneath the corruption of the ancient, noble, austere, and mostly evil House of Black. There was no reason to be ill-tempered or poor-spirited with the house full of Weasleys and members of the Order of all shapes—most of those shapes courtesy of one Nymphandora Tonks. The Christmas holidays had come and Harry Potter and his friends, Ron and Ginny Weasly and Hermione Granger were all well received at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix who while wary of the lack of activity from Voldomort, were glad for the break. There aught to have been great cheer in every corner of the house.

And yet...

As festive and merry as it all looked, there was no real cheer to be found at #12. Partly, this came from the sorrow at the absence of Sirius Black, the former owner of the house who last year at this time had been every inch the delighted host. But most of it stemmed from discord between the current owners, or more precisely, discord from one of the current owners directed at the other who seemed not to notice and was the only apparently tranquil soul in the enormous and packed-to-capacity house.

Harry didn't care. He knew perfectly well that every one was on edge, uneasy and generally, miserable due to his and the professor's falling out, and he didn't care. No, the thought after consideration, he _did_ care. And furthermore, he was glad. Why _should_ they be happy when he was so decidedly not? In truth, wasn't that why he was so furri9ous in the first place? Wasn't the professor's refusal to display any grief over Sirius' loss what had angered him in the first place?

Harry worked and reworked his way around the room he an Ron were sharing—as co-owner of the house, he supposed he was entitled to any room he wanted and he wanted Sirius' old room, but that was where _He_ was staying and he'd be damned if—Harry's rather enraged thoughts were cut off when his roommate entered noisily.

"Harry, will you please cut out all the pacing?" his friend pleaded in that long-suffering, resigned manner he'd picked up over the last year and a half dealing with Harry's mood swings _on top of_ Hermione's nit-picking. Not to mention the increased work load at school and dealing with his little sister dating. "You're going to wear the finishing off the floor and _I'm_ the one who finished it."

Harry paused halfway between Ron's overflowing trunk and his only slightly tidier one and looked up. "You finished it with that super-durable magical finishing. It's supposed to withstand up to 100 years of wear." Saying this, he continued hi trek, head down, arms folded behind his back, and mumbling angrily under his breath.

The youngest male Weasely shook his head, rolled his eyes heavenward and shrugged in a "why me" gesture he found himself making all too often these days. Stealing himself to the inevitable bull-headedness of his friend, Ron marched up to Harry and stopped the shorter boy by the simple expedient of stepping in front of him and grabbing his hunched shoulders. "Well, that's true enough mate, but between this summer and the last three days, I'd say the floor's got another three months, tops. So give it and me a break. It's the holidays; try and get into the spirit at least a little."

Though he knew he sounded like a petulant and particularly spoiled child, Harry could not repress a disgruntled "Why should I?"

"Because you're driving everyone completely nutters!" came Ron's instant and irritated reply. "Hermione is so upset she hasn't once asked me if I've done my homework, and _I'm_ so upset that I _have_. Tonks' face keeps twitching and I mean literally twitching and coming out completely different than it started. She wandered around for two hours yesterday looking like a cross between Trewlawny, Snape, and a blast-ended skrewt before she realized it. Mum hasn't yelled at _anyone_, not even Mundungus! Even the twins haven't exploded anything or tried to get someone to test their latest crackpot invention in _two days_! That's got to be some kind of record!"

Harry, for all the image of a Trewlawny/Snape/skrewt amused him, kept his face stubborn and resentful. "_He_ doesn't seem to mind."

Ron fought his impulse to punch Harry in his grimacing mouth and settled for using reason. It was a last resort as reason had never been his forte, and he severally wished for Hermione before he thought back on how riled she now was and how she attacked Malfoy in the third year. She might have followed that impulse to give Harry a good crack to the head. "So what! Forget him, Harry! He's dealing with it his own way and your behavior isn't going to change that!" He sounded angry and argumentative, he knew—a far cry from Hermione at her best, all smug condescendence and absolute surety of her own knowledge—but his argument was valid, and Ron was proud at his first attempt at logic.

Harry, it seemed was less impressed. "You sound just like Hermoine! 'Let him deal with it his own way'!"

"And you sound just like a jackass! Please explain how ruining a perfectly good vacation is going to improve the situation any!" He shoved away from his friend as he really didn't want to hurt the colossal jerk and such close contact when he was this angry could be detrimental to that desire. Unfortunately, in his anger, Ron shoved just a mite too heartily and Harry wound up sprawled out half on Ron's bed and half on the floor.

Harry looked surprised, indignant, and just a little bit comical from Ron's viewpoint, but no worse for the ware, so Ron went on. "If I sound like Hermione," he said more calmly looking down at Harry, "just consider how often she's wrong. If he doesn't want to care, that's his business and you can't do anything about it. But you locking yourself up in here most of the day and coming out sporadically only to make everyone miserable is my business, and it stops now.

"Sirius is dead and has been for more than seven months; you're angry, sad, and frustrated—" Harry tried to break in with an enraged command to not try and tell him how he felt, but Ron ran right over him. "I get it, Harry, I do. I may not feel exactly what you do, but I understand. You need someone to be angry at, and since he doesn't seem to care, he's a likely target, but everyone else. . . we didn't _do_ anything to deserve this treatment, Harry and neither did you. Quit making the entire Order the casualties of your private war. Come out of this damn room and spread some fucking Christmas cheer before I shove some holly-jolly down your throat."

With that, Ron left the room and Harry thoroughly impressed with the fact that he'd managed not to punch him.

AN: I know it's a short chapter, but that's really all that there is to say on it. I'm halfway through writing the second, and hopefully it will be longer and up soon.


	2. Dinner: Party!

AN: Sorry for the delay in posting, but I'd rather not fail any of my classes this semester, and I'm well on my way to doing so anyway. The plot has sort of veered off from where I originally intended it to go; it's still getting there, but the path it's decided to take is a bit circumvent so the story might end up being longer than I want it to be.

As usual, I don't own anything, not even the computer upon which this is being typed.

Thanks to all those who read chapter one and deigned to review.

Chapter 2: Dinner: Party!

Harry entered the kitchen for dinner hours later to find Ron's mood not greatly improved. Mrs. Weasley had laid the table like a Hogwarts feast despite the fact that Christmas was still two days away. Various members of the Order were present though McGonnagal, Snape, Hagrid, and Dumbledor hadn't been able to come because of the students still at Hogwarts. But all the Weasleys were present and accounted for with the obvious exception of Percy who, though mostly forgiven for being a prodigiously pompous prat, hadn't been fully accepted back into the fold, didn't even know about the Order, and who was, in any case, probably working. Tonks sat in all her neon glory between Bill and Charley. The Twins were flanked by Moody and Mundungus Fletcher. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were next to Kingsly. Ron, Ginny, and Hermoine were saving Harry a seat.

No one was talking. They were all either looking at him expectantly or studiously _not_ looking at him. The only exception being Ron who stared him straight in the eye in open challenge. Since _He_ wasn't there, and because Harry had no desire to have holly-jolly nor anything else shoved down his throat, he opted for civility. "Hi, everyone," is all he said, but it was more unprompted conversation than he'd managed in the house since last Christmas, and it made an impression.

"Hi, Harry," Ron replied with a smug grin. "How ya doin'?" The look on Ron's face told Harry he had better be just-fine-and-thank-you-so-much-for-asking or there'd be dire consequences.

"I'm great," he forced, not taking his eyes off Ron. "I'm not at the Dursley's, I've finished most of my homework for the break, and it's nearly Christmas. There really isn't much to complain about." Harry was surprised at how easy it was to find something positive about his live with the threat of bodily harm looming about. He was sure he didn't really fool anyone, but still they all noticeably relaxed.

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile—the first real smile, Harry noticed, that she'd produced over the break—until something occurred to her and she turned to Ron. "That reminds me, Ron, have you gotten _any_ work done?"

Ron sniffed at her accusatory tone and said, "Honestly Hermione, do you ever think of anything else? There's loads of time before we have to be back at school. There's no need to worry about all that until at least Boxing Day."

As he settled in next to Ginny, and Ron and Hermione began to bicker about the importance of not procrastinating, Harry realized that Ron had not answered Hermione's question. Furthermore, Ron himself had informed him that his homework was completed not three hours ago. He mentioned this peculiarity to Ginny and she grinned broadly.

"I know," she told him. "We both finished yesterday while you were sulking and Hermione was helping Mum cook. He even gave me some great pointers as to what I should study for the OWL's."

Harry tried to ignore the annoyance he felt at Ginny saying he was sulking in favor of getting his answer, so he didn't say anything about that. "If that's true, why didn't he just say so? Hermoine wouldn't have anything to complain about if he had."

Ginny gave Harry a look that he couldn't quite read but which was an eerie combination of Hermione's "Well it's obvious, isn't it?" look, Ron's "Huh?" look, and Fred and George when they're up to something particularly dastardly. Then she grinned, all Ginny. "You're worse than Ron; you really are."

"And _you're_ worse than Hermione," he replied irritated. "Honestly, the two of you could, just now and then, give a straight answer instead of making half-insulting observations that make absolutely no sense."

Rather than earning him the frank answer he demanded, Harry's little outburst sent Ginny into a fit of giggles that sounded distinctly mocking and a bit pitying to Harry. After her laughter subsided, Ginny asked Harry, "Does it really bother you so much when they bicker?"

"Of course it does! Doesn't it bother you?"

"No," she replied shrugging, "should it?"

This seemingly simple question developed into a full-blown debate which ran the course of dinner and that Harry was shocked later to discover he genuinely enjoyed despite Ginny's ineffable replies and enigmatic little smiles. While they debated, Ron and Hermione bickered, their vein of conversation wandering off the importance of homework to responsibility in general to the disastrously distracting influence of Quiditch and Exploding Snap to procrastination in general and "Really Ron, NEWT's are only a year and a half away if you really think about it" all the way back to the importance of homework.

Both of these discussions went a long way to improve the mood of the assembled, and soon the entire room was a cacophony of conversation. Tonks began regaling the two eldest Weasleys with one of her more recent misadventures. The twins began haggling with Mundungus for some less-than-legal artifact that they simply _had_ to have for their latest innovation in misbehaving while Professor Moody looked on with surprising approval. Mr. and were too busy engaged in debate with Kingsley about the practice of Muggle medicine to notice.

Over all, dinner went fairly well even if Harry didn't manage to get much out of Ginny. He was surprised mid-way through demanding to know what was so great about two good friends constantly at each other's throats to note that he was actually enjoying talking to Ginny. It wasn't that he'd thought she was dull or anything; it was more like wit hone thing and another, he never really got around to thinking about her at all. He was ashamed to realize that, on the whole, he thought about a number of people he didn't even like—Malfoy and Snape for example—more in one week that he'd bothered to think about Ginny Weasley in the six years since they'd met.

He mentioned this very fact to her as the two of them began clearing the dishes away and cleaning up the kitchen—they'd drawn the short straws. To his amazement, Ginny didn't seem to be offended. "That's all that surprising, Harry. I mean, how often do you suppose I really think about Denis Creevy?"

The analogy shocked Harry. "But you aren't a pest," he protested.

"Neither is Denis. To tell the truth, he's one of the nicer people I know," she replied. "I just don't think about him much."

Ginny seemed to think this was all there was to say on the subject and bent to wipe the magically elongated table with a dish rag. Harry, however, was still bothered. "But, you are a really important person!" Ginny put her rag down, placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head at Harry waiting for him to explain. "You're my best friend's little sister, my other best friend's best friend, and a member of a family that has practically adopted me, and I spend most of my time ignoring you! I spent_ all_ of my second year ignoring you, and it nearly got you killed! And. . . and. . . why are you laughing at me?! This _isn't_ funny!" he finished irritably.

Ginny ignored his indignation and just laughed all the harder when he demanded to know what the hell was so damned amusing. She sat down on the edge of the dining table and laughed with great crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks for a full three minutes. When her laughter subsided a little and he again asked what she found so funny, she answered brushing tears from her eyes. "You, Harry Potter. You are what I find so funny. You who don't want Ron and Hermione to bicker because they're such good friends but while in the middle of a blood feud with one of the few people who really loves you. You who are so obstinately opposed to being made to bear the burden of dozens of wizards all by yourself but refuses to share that burden with those that would take it on with you. And you, Harry Potter, who has to juggle growing up and all the trials that entails with the insanities of war, the absence of familiar support, and the rancor of the most powerfully evil wizard in history but feels guilty that he can't remember one person in all that confusion—who, by the way is more than capable of taking care of herself and has too many people looking out for her as it is, thank-you-very-much. You are a very funny person, Harry Potter." And she went back to wiping off the table.

Harry worked on the dishes for a while muling over what she said in silence. When he finally spoke, all he got out was "But. . ." before Ginny cut in. "You aren't Merlin, Harry. You aren't the Minister of Magic. You're not even Dumbledore. You're just Harry. Sure you're saddled with a lot of crap that has a lot of higher implications, but at the end of the day, you're just Harry, a sixteen-year-old kid trying to make it to seventeen as quick as he can. You can't be expected to save the world and every individual in it all by your lonesome. Give yourself a break." She picked up her broom, having long since finished wiping off the table, stove, and all the counters, and started sweeping again. "And finish those dishes, you've been washing that one plate for the past five minutes."

And that's it for chapter two. Sorry if you were expecting it to be longer; I did too, but that's all there is. Hopefully, I'll post more before the Christmas Holidays in the real world, but it's not likely—I've got finals coming up.


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